What Rain Hides
by Arctick Child
Summary: The rain was all that hadn't changed.


Disclaimer; I don't own _Knights of the Old Republic_.  
Thanks to Des for Beta-ing.

What Rain Hides

A storm dances over the forested moon of Dxun.

Lightning splits the sky in two, illuminating the deepest corners of the shadowed crashes and rolls over abandoned Mandalorian weapon caches, echoes over the still-smoldering remains of decade-old crashed fighters. Rain smashes into trees and animals alike with a righteous fury, hot and warm and thick as tears, as if the heavens are crying.

Leaning against the Ebon Hawk, Bao-Dur turns his face to the rain, allowing it to trace tiny streams around his stubbled horns and down his neck. It has been a long time since his last visit to Dxun; he barely recognizes it now. The ground, a sickening bloodied river of mud when he last stood upon the world's surface, is now a deep, muddy green. The remains that once crushed grass and small animals beneath them have decayed, rusted, been taken root in. Corpses have long since decomposed, their bodies become food for the soil they once laid upon. Time has hidden well the horrors that warbrought to Dxun; even the trees, cut down and scarred by vibroblades and blasters, have grown and flourished, or been uprooted and replaced. But the rain hasn't changed, and this is where the true illusion lies. For in the rain, it's easy to pretend that the planet is untouched, unviolated.

In this rain, the same rain that fell on the world so many years ago, you can almost believe Dxun was as pure as it looked.

Bao-Dur sighs, turning his head to watch a stray boma scurry for cover from the storm. Even a decade later, it's impossible for him to forget the way the moon had looked when he first strode across its surface. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear the cries of his comrades as they were cut down by the Mandalorians and the beasts and the jungle. He can almost smell the smoke again, feel the cool metal of a blaster clenched in his sweaty palms. It was the first time he'd seen combat; techs generally stayed behind on the orbiting ships, but Revan was getting desperate and reinforcements were late. He can still recall with perfect clarity the panic and adrenaline that flooded his system when he met a Mandalorian head-to-head for the first time. For a moment, the old hatred courses through him, cold and quick and deadly. That battle had changed him-it had changed everyone. Wounded them. A part of him had died during that fight.

Another sigh, and the Zabrak straightens. He should be inside, making repairs; the Hawk is far from being completely repaired. But the moon still calls to him, and it holds him in its grasp still. It whispers to him, taunts him with its recovery, with its sense of peace. He stands there, allowing the rain to soak through his flight suit and into the very core of his being.

He wonders how his life would be different if he'd never set foot on Dxun. If he'd never seen what the Mandalorians were willing to do, would he still have built that damned machine that destroyed them at Malachor V? How much longer would the war have carried on if he hadn't? How many more people would have died? Would he have been able to live with watching the destruction his own hands had wrought if he hadn't watched the slaughter the Mandalorians were capable of?

He gives a silent, humorless chuckle. Can this really be considered living?

Bao-Dur sighs again, running a hand over his face. He knows it wouldn't have made a difference. He still would have watched as Mandalorian and Republic vessels alike were drawn in and crushed like a gizka beneath a freighter. It wouldn't have mattered if he had built the machine or not.

Nothing would be any different. Nothing but the weight on his conscience.

"Bao-Dur!"

The Zabrak looks up, pulled from his thoughts by the Exile's soft voice. She smiles as she joins him, the rain pasting her rust colored hair to her head. She leans against the Hawk, a tired smile resting on her lips. The lack of lighting hides the myriad of scars that cover her face and exposed arms, souvenirs from the Mandalorian Wars.

They pass a long moment in silence, the rain and the creak of wood drowning out the normal noises of the forest. The wind stirs up the thin coating of leaves on the ground, and the faded blue of Mandalorian battle armor pokes from beneath as they resettle, quickly covered by the jungle. He glares at the spot for a moment. He wishes he could move on as easily as Dxun has. Wishes he could forget everything he'd done, if only for a minute.

The Exile pushes off the Hawk and stands beside him, turning her face to the rain. "This place sure does bring back memories," she sighs. "I never thought I'd ever be back here again."

Bao-Dur brushes the water out of his eyes, glancing at her. She's watching him, her cloudy eyes wide with concern. He almost smiles.

"It wasn't one of my top vacation spots, either," he admits, and shivers. The rain is quickly getting chilly, and he is beginning to wish he had stayed on the Hawk. But he can't bring himself to move quite yet; it feels like there's still something holding him there, chained to the site where everything had changed. Where there had been so many people he hadn't saved.

A surge of anger flared within him. It shouldn't have taken him so long to find a way to stop them. He could have saved all the people who died there if he hadn't been foolish enough to believe there was some line the Mandalorians wouldn't cross.

Well, Dxun had certainly taken care of that delusion.

"I suppose not," the General chuckled, a tired sound. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

Bao-Dur glanced at her. "General?"

She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. "What happened here," she clarified. "You couldn't have stopped it. None of us really knew what they were capable of before we faced them here. Not even Revan." She glances at him, and smiles, a sad, tired expression. "You weren't the only delusional fool down here."

He stays silent. Something inside him recognizes that she's right, that he couldn't have truly expected to be able to prevent the slaughter here, but he isn't willing to accept that. It goes against everything he's convinced himself of since the Wars ended. Everything he's built his life on since Malachor.

She watches him for a moment, then nudges him with her elbow, pointing to the treetops. "Look at that."

He follows her gaze, unsure of what she's trying to show him. The rain is falling more gently, but it's colder than ever. For a moment he blinks up at the treetops, confused. He can tell there's something up there that's changed, something that he should notice, but he can't tell what it is.

Her voice is smiling as she speaks again. "Can't you see it?"

He frowns, glancing at her. She must be seeing things; he can't tell any difference from this distance. "I don't-" he starts, then blinks and glances up once more. This time he ignores the trees, looking past them to the sky. He realizes what's different just as she points it out.

"Sunshine," she laughs. "It's amazing, isn't it?"

Bao-Dur glances at her, but before he can say anything she continues, "Even through the darkness, the sun can still shine."

She casts a sidelong glance at him, and there is something unreadable in her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest once more, shivering, and he watches her, unsure of the point she was trying to make. She turns back to the sunshine that doesn't quite reach past the treetops.

"It's hidden by the rain," she says, "but it's still there. Warmth grows even in the coldest places." She sighs, looking away from the light and turning towards the ship. She faces away from him as she continues, an odd sort of sorrow in her voice, "Maybe you should try looking for it on your own this time."

Then she makes her way to the boarding ramp, soon swallowed by the rain. He watches the spot where she disappeared for a moment, then follows her.

He has a lot of work to do.


End file.
